


Cheers to the End

by karmacancer



Category: My Chemical Romance, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: 1960s, Based on a My Chemical Romance Song, Gen, Love Letters, My Chemical Romance References, Prison, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge Era, You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us In Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmacancer/pseuds/karmacancer
Summary: This is a letter sent by the protagonist in "you know what they do to guys like us in prison" to his lover, set in a 1960's style aesthetic. Believe it or not, I had to do this for my fiction writing class.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Cheers to the End

June 8th, 1960

Reprise Hotels  
Room 14, floor 10  
109 Cemetery Drive  
Jersey City, NJ 07030

Dear fiore, 

I can't explain how I miss you in something as plainly human as a letter. Simple words scrawled across a page in dying ink, from a mad lover who's fading just like his pen. I keep smudging this page as I go back and try to find a better way to explain. I'm sorry about my handwriting, I'm not sure if you can even understand what I'm saying. 

Honestly, I'd rather not know what I think about anymore either. But luckily, a doctor's note with some lies can fix that. Prescriptions can soothe the troubles of this worth. My wrist broke around a week ago, but the guards have yet to offer any treatment for the sharp pain. Or a typewriter to make sending this easier. 

Not that I've been fully ignored by the men here, of course. They've made offers for other things, but I'd rather not talk about how filthy this cell has become. How loud the screams are when the cameras turn off. If they even bother doing that, I wouldn't be surprised if they saved the film for later. Nobody cares what happens to guys in prison. 

My cellmates are monsters as well, I heard some have killed other unfortunate hostages held here (and escaped with no punishment that lasted more than a night). The games they play cheat your mind and cards out of your control. What's the point in rolling dice if the surface isn't flat? They already found my secret out, which is part of the reason the guards seem to mess with me more than most. 

One of them told me I can't believe in faith because of who I am. Is faith, and God for that matter, an actual being? If I say a prayer, will "he" somehow get me out of here? I'm not sure how trustworthy this savior seems. I trust you, and the list ends there.

If God is real, why did he have to make us live like this? Unfortunate souls pining after each other, forever shamed for kissing just because our outer casings happen to be the same.

And if this "all powerful, caring" God is always trying to look out for us, how did they find me? I hid the bodies well fiore, there's no way they had evidence on them. There weren't any others there the night of the killing that could have let words slip. My hair was cut, a fake job was found, anything unique about my story was stripped- I was a nobody. Just a nobody sitting in a small restaurant with his dearest, appearing to be casual friends sipping drinks on a break. 

And then it was just you seated there, draining bottle after bottle. My seat knocked over, empty of bones but full of bullet holes. They never got me with those dreadful things of destruction- I was tackled from behind and shoved into the trunk of a van.

I could have surrendered without a fuss, sure. But you were there. You, a beautiful dove trapped by the cage of humanity. What if they tried to drag you into it somehow, and decided to bring you to this murderous place? The law is never fair, and your pretty heart would have been crushed within a week of this hell. I'd sooner let them shoot me dead than see you set foot here.

My sentence is for six years, or at least that's what I've been told. If I don't "behave", it's likely to be changed. They might just kill me anyway. Electric chairs, deadly liquids to the bloodstream or back the throat, maybe ropes that let me float from the ceiling. Eventually, I'll go down one way or another. I just hope it's not here, by myself.

If I make it out, we should get a dog. They're more civilized than the creatures that surround me. At least dogs notice when somebody isn't doing well and try to help, useless as their efforts usually are. When these people see pain, their pulses rise and cheeks grow warm. They love it. 

I've heard stories of terrible, bloody things that any young lad would surely pass out from seeing. I hate to admit it, but I've done...I've done terrible things to keep my life. I worry the outside world might see me as crazy at this point. 

Please don't question how I was able to send a letter, and please don't try to write back. I just want you to be safe and related to my case as little as possible. Nobody is to find where you live. Burn this and leave the building as soon as you get it. Run for your life. 

This note isn't a cry for help- it's a plea to remember. I remember you so, so much. You would run your hands through my hair and brush your lips over my forehead when I was at my worst. We didn't quite know how to save ourselves, but we could hold one another. Thinking of being with you again makes me bear whatever needs to be done that could possibly let me leave. Someday's, I wake up and contemplate trying to meet God instead of continuing. 

I can't explain everything here, fiore. I can only hope to tell you in person, preferably in private so all my attention can be rightfully given to you. And if not here- then perhaps in another place. We'll find each other somehow, I promise.

Cheers to that day, my flower.


End file.
